I know you know about Aleppo, Syria. After Syria’s 2011 Arab Spring protest descended into civil war, and Aleppo became a key base for rebel factions against the Assad regime. In the summer of 2015, it looked like Assad was losing ground and the grip on his power, but then Russia and Iran increased their support. In February, the Assad regime, with help from Iran, cut off supplies to 320,000 people. Whether through starvation or nonstop bombardment from Russian and Syrian warplanes, 90% of the rebel holdings fell on December 12. This is probably the worst mass slaughter of people since the genocide in Darfur. Women in Aleppo have committed suicide in Aleppo, to escape the war crimes that would be perpetrated against them. There have been untold atrocities. Al Jazeera estimates 450,000 dead and 12 million Syrians displaced.

Don’t ask me who is right and who is wrong, who are the good guys and who are the bad guys, because nobody knows and frankly, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s happening right now, in front of our eyes, and nobody in France or in the UK, or in Germany, or in America is doing anything to stop it. Who is marching in the streets for the innocent men and women of Syria? Who is shouting for the children? No one.

I’ve been haunted by the cover photo of the New York Times on Tuesday. It was a photograph of a Syrian man carrying a small child with a IV held up in the air. He was next to a woman in a niqab—and all I could think of is the little baby Jesus.

Remember that Advent is the season of expectation, of waiting.

Of seeking the light that is going to break into the world on Christmas morning,

in the shape of a little tiny, brown baby, born into poverty,

to a people without political power,

to a mother who is unmarried,

a father who is absent throughout his life,

born when the nation is ruled by a despotic dictator,

with a deep, abiding paranoia.

That little baby in his or her father’s arm could very well be the child we are waiting for.

It may be that I’m nearing 50 and this will be my first married Christmas, but I find myself particularly struck by Elizabeth.

Elizabeth and her priest husband, Zechariah, were righteous before God, but barren and older. Luke chapter 1 tells us that Zechariah is chosen by lot to enter the sanctuary, and Gabriel the angel shows up. The angel says, “Do not be afraid. Your wife will bear a special child.” Zechariah doubts, and asks the angel, “How will I know this is so?” So Gabriel mutes Zechariah, and Elizabeth gets pregnant.

It’s an old familiar story—it’s the story of Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, Samson’s mother (unnamed), and the Shunnanite women of Elisha’s time. These women were unable to conceive, but with God’s intervention, they did. Elizabeth joins the ranks of a special group of Jewish women.

But the becoming pregnant part of Elizabeth’s story is not the part that fascinates me. Instead, it’s the story of the friendship of Elizabeth and Mary. Soon after Elizabeth finds she’s pregnant, Mary comes to visit.

There are three questions I want to ask:

Why did Mary run to Elizabeth?

Why did Elizabeth welcome Mary?

How did their bond help Mary?

I think Mary came to Elizabeth hoping to find a port in a storm. Mary’s pregnancy would be visible just around 3 months, and she’s unmarried (although betrothed, which may have been a good sign for the marriage if only she and Joseph had consummated the betrothal), estranged from both Joseph and her family, and poor.

I wonder if she wasn’t going to Elizabeth to hide.

But why would Elizabeth welcome Mary? The text tells us that Elizabeth was “righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord” (Luke 1:6). She had full right to shun Mary, the unmarried pregnant girl. But she doesn’t. Elizabeth is good.

And perhaps wise. Wise to the idea that what ordinarily seems like such a big deal, really isn’t that big a deal at all. Wise to the idea that controversy passes, people get over things, and life goes on.

And then finally, I wonder if Elizabeth is just plain generous. She gives out of her heart, expecting nothing in return, and is able to be present to Mary out of that generosity.

There’s a certain amount of rebellion in that kind of woman. It’s a rebellion that goes against the grain, doesn’t worry too much about selfish outcomes, and just basically doesn’t give a damn about social conventions. It’s a rebellion that is kind and just.

This is the kind of rebellion we need right now, the rebellion of older women. It’s not a rebellion of pantsuit ladies so much as a rebellion of comfortable shoe women. It’s a rebellion that says, “I’m going to do the right thing, no matter the consequences to my safety, my income, my position.” It’s a rebellion that greets its neighbor with a hug, not a gun. It’s a rebellion that fills up the downtrodden with a nice bowl of soup or a casserole, and helps younger people birth new hope into the world. It’s a rebellion that doesn’t need credit, and is able to hold on to just a little bit of hope that things will get better.

What did it do for Mary? It was at once the gift of excitement (among family members who were not at all excited by her pregnancy), the gift of sustenance, and the gift of calm. Remember that Mary had gone “in haste” to Elizabeth. But she slows down and stays for three months. It was also the gift of hope. After Elizabeth’s greeting, Mary finds her voice to praise God in the midst of her hardship.

In these troubling times, let’s all try to be like Elizabeth. Wise, warm, and welcoming. Hopeful, helpful, and humble. And supporting the birth of a new thing in our world, God breaking in to create a kin-dom of justice, of peace, and of love.

On this the 17th Day of Advent, we pause for a musical break. Take a moment to hear Wake Forest Baptist Church Chancel Choir sing O Be Joyful in the Lord, an original piece written by Woodson E. Faulkner, II based on Psalm 100. Woody writes:

The through-composed work can be described as having 4 sections; a joyful opening shout with trumpet and voice, a short imitative section leading to a quiet lush harmonization of the text “…we are Gods’ people and the sheep of God’s pasture”. The next section excitedly invites us to “…go into God’s courts with praise”, thus leading to the final section which begins with a short chant followed by an English anthem style setting of the text “…Be ye thankful unto God…” and ends with a Bach-like chorale quoting a short bit of the hymn tune St. Anne (O God, Our Help…).

The choir starts 45 seconds in:

TODAY’S ADVENT ACTION: Take a moment to do something joyful—throw on some beautiful Christmas music, hang some lovely ornaments on your tree, and rest in this season of merriment and fun.

In 1963, I was a freshman at Wake Forest College and my brother was a senior. On November 22 of that fall semester, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Everyone alive says they remember where they were when they heard the news. I was outside Tribble Hall, which at the time was called “The New Building.” The first thing I really remember about the day after hearing the news, was my brother calling and saying, “We have to get out of here.” Classes were over and everyone was crying and, as I have learned later in life, young people are particularly inclined toward mass hysteria. How my brother instinctively knew to get to a safer, more stable place, I’ll never know. As a senior, he was allowed to have a car on campus. We drove to Big Mama and Granddaddy’s home in Mocksville, just 30 miles from Winston-Salem. As I have already mentioned in other stories, Big Mama always laid a table with an incredible variety and amount of food. I remember my grandfather saying the same things at every meal. He would say, “If you don’t see anything you like, we can make you a peanut butter sandwich.” If children at the table were eating gravy bread which he encouraged, he would quote the Bible, “Man cannot live by bread alone.” If you did not eat bread, he would say, “Bread is the staff of life.” The routine was comforting.

The assassination was on Friday and we ate our way through the weekend. We watched TV along with everyone else and saw Lee Harvey Oswald shot. My grandparents had lived through the Great Depression and world wars and, as is true of people with experience, as bad as things are, it is usually not the end of the world. They somehow imparted that to us that weekend. I remember us finishing one huge meal and Granddaddy pushed back from the table, slapped his knee and said, “OK, let’s go watch old Oswald get shot again!” I still feel grateful for his humor and being shepherded through such a turbulent time.

TODAY’S ADVENT ACTION: If you are young and are living through a traumatic event, spend time with an older person who has experienced other difficult situations during their life. If you are an older, experienced person try to provide a safe haven for young folk who may be experiencing trauma for the first time.

I attended the Wake Forest School of Divinity chapel service yesterday, and Derek Hicks was preaching. He mentioned the motto of his alma mater, Grambling State University, “Where everybody is somebody,” and I cannot get the phrase out of my head.

Where Everybody Is Somebody.

What would it mean to live in a world where everybody is somebody? It would mean that we take seriously the concerns and needs of children. It would mean that each and everyone of us would have a both a presence and a purpose to live into. It would mean that people wouldn’t be treated like children in their homes. I could list a million things in this country that would be different if we really believed, deep inside, that everybody is somebody.

And we would live different lives if we believed that we ourselves were somebody.

Because somebodies have power and meaning and value. And somebodies impact the world.

TODAY’S ADVENT ACTION: How could you show another person that they are “Somebody?” Like yesterday’s post, it’s about knowing people (and calling people) by name. Do it today!